A Verbis Ad Verbera
by Suz Singer
Summary: A year before his contract is up, Galahad can no longer wait to give his heart to the woman he wants. The catch is that Cora is the daughter of one of his brothers-in-arms, and half of the other Knights would happily flog Galahad if he lays a finger on Cora. There's something else...how can Galahad give his heart to Cora fully, if his life does not even belong to him, but to Rome?
1. Chapter 1

Okay, this is about a year previous to the movie, but Cora is sixteen, so bear with me. That will be my one anomaly in this story. At least for now...

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**Prologue**

The Knights were returning. Not far from where Bors' lover, Vanora, and their bastard children pressed against the gate; was a young woman, her hands curled around the bars, perched on her toes, peering into the distance.

She was of average height, and as thin as a reed. Her inky-black, pin-straight hair was cut to shoulder-length, revealing a pair of slender shoulders that had slipped free of her much too large dress. The dress had been a lovely periwinkle blue when her father had purchased it for her (though he had misjudged her size quite terribly), but it had faded in the months hence into a dingy grey with just a hint of the former blue. The frock was cinched at her waist with a ragged, torn scrap of red cloth. Her calves were bare and dirty, as well as her feet.

Her face only held a few smudges of dirt, the rest pale and clear, letting her most defining feature pour forth: Her large, black-lashed eyes held orbs of cerulean that stared out from her narrow face. Those orbs searched for familiar features of the armored Knights returning. When she saw a Knight with black armor riding in, seemingly unharmed, her grip only tightened on the bars, especially when she saw the Knight's dark eyes searching the crowd on the other side of the gate.

"Cora! With me, girl! Your father will never find you if we don't stay together," Vanora called to her, motioning with a waving arm even as her eyes remained glued to her lover on the other side of the gate.

Without another word, Cora abandoned her place, another quickly taking up that space, and was promptly swallowed up in a sea of Vanora's children. The red-haired woman pulled the teenager to her side for a warm, one-armed hug. "You saw him, love. Your father's unharmed. He'll be here, soon enough, simpering and annoying the daylights out of you. You'll miss Vanora in only a few hours, I tell you," the mother assured Cora.

"I don't doubt it," Cora responded, her eyes searching again for the dark-haired Knight she called father. The group of them waited nearly an hour, most of the crowd thinning out from disinterest, except for those with personal connections to the Knights. That left pretty much only Cora, Vanora and her children, as well as a few women who fancied themselves one of the Knights' women.

Finally the gate opened, and Cora stepped away from Vanora and her brood, to avoid the trampling path they'd take to Bors. Her father, Lancelot, slipped past the others, glancing around and smiling once his eyes found Cora. His long legs closed the distance between them in mere moments, and he was pulling her into his arms."Da!" Cora cried, breathing in her father's musky scent that smelled far more like sweat and horse than man, squeezing her arms around him.

"Cora, my little urchin," Lancelot greeted her, tilting her face up so his eyes could rake her features in greedily, assuring himself of her safety and health, before brushing at a smudge of dirt on her cheek. "There was a time where you would have run into my arms, and would cling to me for days, until you were sure that I was not leaving," Lancelot remembered, wistfully.

Cora laughed, smiling at the expression on her father's face. "That was before Vanora convinced me how annoying you are, Da." She retorted, squeezing him again to remind him that she loved him still (even though he was a great prat).

Lancelot let out a great guffaw of a laugh. "Oh, that meddler will get hers, soon enough. Just let me look at you, Cora." He said, drawing back from their embrace to examine his daughter from head to toe. "You look like a dirty street-urchin, girl! What happened to your shoes? And this poor dress?" He questioned, incredulously.

"Da, this dress was a casualty the moment you bought it for me. I outgrew the shoes, and gave them to Six." Cora explained, rolling her eyes.

"Well, that's it then, we're getting you a new dress and shoes for your birthday tomorrow," Lancelot informed her.

Cora just shook her head at him. "Come, Da. I have a bath waiting for you at home," Cora told him, taking her father's hand and leading him from the gate.

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**Review Please.**


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, this is about a year previous to the movie, but Cora is sixteen, so bear with me. That will be my one anomaly in this story. At least for now...

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**Chapter 1**

The small cottage in which Lancelot and his daughter lived was close to the Knights' barracks, and practically next door to Vanora's home. The Knights were not allowed to have families, really, (they were forbidden to marry as long as they were contracted, but any bastards they had were overlooked) and women & children were absolutely not allowed to reside in the barracks.

So Lancelot had procured the little cottage for himself and his then-infant daughter, and had lived there for the last sixteen years. Lancelot refused to reside in the barracks and leave Cora alone- except when Cora had become old enough to chase her father out of the house when he became too much of a pest.

But Lancelot had left his child more than he liked- when he was on missions. Cora's mother had run off when she was just days old, leaving Cora motherless. If it wasn't for Vanora, who had watched over Cora even before she became a mother herself; Lancelot would have probably come home from a mission to find his daughter dead.

All the Knights had had a hand in raising Cora, except for Galahad, who had been young enough himself to look at Cora more as a playmate then anything. He was a mere six years old when they had been brought over from Sarmatia, and Cora had been born within a year of that. And sixteen years later, not much had changed. Cora thought the curly-haired twenty-three year old was more annoying than anything else, and Galahad enjoyed pestering her.

That was a relief to Lancelot, as the youngest Knight had become popular with the women in the last few years, and he was sure Galahad would break his daughter's heart if she ever set her sights on him. But, luckily, Cora had not shown any interest in romance. She was far too clever, Lancelot thought, to just fall in love.

"Are you trying to say I stink?" Lancelot asked, feigning outrage.

Cora stopped for a moment, as she opened the door to their little cottage, seeming to ponder the question. "Most foul, Da, most foul," she answered making her father scoff in disdain.

Inside their cottage, Cora had hung a sheet across a small area to act as a privacy screen so Lancelot could bathe. "There's clean clothes behind the screen, Da." Cora told him, shooing him towards the bath.

"You're an angel, my love." Lancelot said happily, encircling her with an arm, and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Cora rolled her eyes at him, pushing him away. "Go. Bathe." She ordered, dramatically pinching her nose and waving her hand at him. Her father just laughed at her, peeling off his armor and hanging it in its place near the rafters, before going to bathe.

Cora started a stew in the heavy pewter pot hanging over the hearth, chopping up vegetables and a sparse bit of beef and throwing it in the broth. She thickened it up with some flour, and set a loaf of bread next to the hearth to warm.

Then she went and examined her father's armor. The black armor was probably as old as she was, and Cora could count the nicks and dings in the molded iron and leather armor. Every time Lancelot came home, his armor was in worse shape. But he never brought it to the blacksmith to be repaired. There was always something else his wages were needed for.

Cora heard the water sloshing as her father climbed out of the bath. She went to the old, wooden chest that held all her things and drew out a shawl, wrapping it around herself, suddenly cold. She gazed out the small window, as she heard her father's heavy steps as he came out from behind the screen. "Dinner is on the hearth. After we eat, I'm going to help Vanora at the tavern. Whether you want to come or rest, is up to you." She informed him, turning to face him.

Lancelot was wearing soft, clean black cotton tunic and breeches with his worn leather boots; his inky-black hair wet and dripping. He frowned at her words. "Since when have you been a barmaid, Cora? I don't like this, you know how the men there are," Lancelot replied with disapproval.

"Vanora asked me to. It's money we could use, Da. And I can defend myself. You've seen to that," Cora retorted defiantly, sticking out her chin daintily.

"When has money become an issue, Cora? I earn enough for the both of us," Lancelot argued.

"I know how much you receive, Father! It's not meant to provide for more than one person! And that means you have a choice- repair your armor, or cloth me! I know what you'd pick!" Cora cried, pointing at her father's battered armor.

"My armor is _fine_, Cora!" her father thundered. He knew she wasn't wrong, but they were both far too stubborn to admit as much. A genetic trait, it seemed. "You'll have a new dress and a pair of shoes, and that is the end of it!" Lancelot shouted, pointing his finger at his teenage daughter.

"I don't care about a stupid dress, Da! I care if you come home alive because your armor was strong enough to ward off a fatal blow! Your armor is _not fine_!" Cora shrieked, tears falling from her eyes.

Lancelot fell still at her words, the raw emotion in them. He moved forward, and his arms enfolded her into his embrace, pressing her face against the softness of his tunic. "Oh, my Cora…"

After a few moments, Cora pulled away, wiping at her eyes, and went to the hearth to stir her stew. "You'll have your armor fixed." She stated quietly, not asking, with a hoarse voice.

Yes." Lancelot said faintly.

"And you'll spend whatever you can to make sure you keep returning to me alive. You can't leave me all alone, Da. You're all I have." Cora continued, without turning to face her father. Lancelot voiced his agreement again. There was nothing he could or would say to dissuade her. He didn't want to face her tears again.

"And what of your clothing?" he asked quietly.

"I have some money saved up. We will see what is left over," she answered. Lancelot mourned how mature, how adult-like his little girl sounded. He hated that Cora fully understood everything that was going on, how she would sacrifice a simple necessity of just having shoes, all with the constant worry of if her only family would return to her.

"I can finish this, my love. Go bathe, the water's neither too cold nor dirty," he requested, striding over to the hearth, and pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter's head and mussing her hair playfully. "Surely you have one other frock not so bad off as this one," Lancelot wondered, eyeing the ugly thing she wore distastefully.

Cora nodded distractedly. "Vanora gave me one…from when she was my age, she said." She murmured.

"Good, go on then." Lancelot prompted her. Cora crossed the room to her chest of belongings, drawing out a dark blue dress and discarding her shawl there, before she went to bathe behind the screen.

Lancelot went to the hearth, listening for the splash as Cora got into the bath. Then he tossed in a handful of spices, glancing nervously at the screen separating the home. Lancelot peered at the appealing-looking stew.

There was another noise of sloshing water as Cora got out of the bath and began dressing. Then there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Lancelot shouted.

"Galahad!" a voice called from the other side of the door.

"What do you want?" Lancelot questioned.

"Dinner!" Galahad responded simply.

"Da, just let him in," Cora called softly from the other side of the screen.

Lancelot rolled his eyes, going to the door and letting Galahad inside. The youngest Knight had just been freshly washed and clothed as well, standing just inside the cottage taking a long whiff of the stew's scent on the air. "I've missed Cora's cooking," Galahad told Lancelot wistfully, glancing around the home. "Where is she?" He asked curiously.

Lancelot nodded towards the screen, where the young Knight could faintly see her shadow as she dressed. He immediately went pink, looking at the floor. This did not escape Lancelot's notice, judging by the flaring of his nostrils, turning to set out bowls and table-spoons. It was as Lancelot began to cut the loaf of bread to divide it up, that Cora emerged from behind the screen.

Vanora's old dress fit her much better than her other, showing off just how slender Cora was, as well as the soft swell of her hips and the modest rise of her breasts, even though she was rather flat-chested. Galahad couldn't help but look at the young woman appreciatively, watching as her hands traced down her sides, smoothing out the dark blue dress. There was a small furrow of concentration between her brows, and the curve of her lower lip captured between her teeth made Galahad suddenly wish it was his lip instead, being so tenderly worried between Cora's teeth.

Suddenly aware of Galahad's gaze on her, Cora glanced at him and bestowed a warm smile; making Galahad drop his eyes to the floor, fighting the blush that soon stained his cheeks. For gods' sake, Man, he told himself. You are a Knight, a man, not some lovesick boy. He didn't need to remind himself that Cora was different. She was not just some maid that he could bed and forget about. If Galahad even attempted this, her father and his brother-in-arms would kill him. And even if he could get Cora into his bed, Galahad doubted he could forget about her, and the fire that burned in his blood caused by her slightest touch.

And then there was the fact that Cora was his best friend. There was Gawain too, but that was different. Thankfully there was no confusion in his feelings for Gawain. Gawain was a friend, a brother, but nothing more. For Cora, however, Galahad held her in the highest regard as his friend, but the older they grew...the more he desired her.

And he didn't understand it. Galahad had never looked at Cora in such a way until a year ago. He had only begun to see her in that light when she had her first sweetheart. Guyon, the blacksmith's apprentice had been only a year older than Cora, and devastatingly sweet on her. Galahad had hated him. He had become instantly jealous of the time Cora devoted to her new sweetheart, time that she had previously spent in Galahad's company.

And only a few weeks after the start of Cora's first relationship, Cora had decided not to see Guyon anymore. But even now, over a year later, whenever Cora passed the smithy with Galahad, he could clearly see the look of longing on the apprentice's face. It took three short weeks to change Galahad's view of Cora, and subsequently his life.

"Galahad, I am glad to see you are unharmed." Cora remarked, closing the short distance between them and embracing her friend. Galahad immediately wrapped his arms around her in return, breathing in her clean scent, his hold tightening for a moment, before he released her. Cora looked a little confused, but she smiled at him nonetheless, patting his shoulder. "I must see if Da's ruined my stew," she murmured, turning towards the hearth and her father.

As Galahad glanced at Lancelot, he saw something burning in the older Knight's eyes. Galahad knew Lancelot suspected him of being sweet on Cora, and had been watching him closely ever since. He knew he should have been more discrete in Lancelot's presence, but he couldn't help it.

They had been gone for weeks, and Galahad had missed his friend desperately. He had been expecting to see her outside the gates after they'd been dismissed, but by the time he'd gotten out there, Cora had already gone with her father. So Galahad had crushed his disappointment, and rushed to the baths and cleaned up, before heading to find Cora, and have his own little reunion with her. And he didn't even care if he had to share it with Lancelot, as long as he was with Cora.

Cora stood beside her father, peering into the pewter pot. "What, Cora? Do you really think I could have ruined your stew by merely stirring it?" Lancelot questioned her as she sniffed the soup he had ladled out suspiciously.

"Oh, I never know, Da. But I have learned to not underestimate the lengths your appalling cooking may reach," Cora responded tartly. Galahad went ahead and sat down at the table, settling himself for what would be endless bickering between father and daughter, he was sure. He wasn't wrong, really.

Galahad watched disinterestedly, his chin propped up on his hand. He wished Cora would just feed him, so watching the pair bicker wouldn't be so boring. With a loud thunk, Lancelot put down a bowl in front of Galahad; the stew sloshing dangerously without spilling. "There! Galahad will taste it, he'll tell you! It's fine!" Lancelot exclaimed.

Suddenly the combined power of two ferocious glares were upon Galahad. He gave the stew a nervous look, if only because of all the fighting. He doubted it could be so bad, if all Lancelot had done was stir it as he claimed. He picked up the table-spoon and took a tentative heaping bite of the stew.

Galahad paled dramatically, faint lines around his eyes tightening as he put the spoon back on the table. "It's fine." He tried to assure father and daughter, weakly, trying not to swallow the noxious mixture. He made a great show of swallowing it.

"Oh, no it's not, Gal!" Cora cried, rushing around the table and running her fingers through his curls in a comforting gesture, before resting on the back of his neck. "Tell me you didn't swallow it! Spit it out!" She pleaded worriedly as Galahad's hands rested on his stomach, shifting uncomfortably before a hand leapt to cover his lips. "Get him a pail!" She ordered her father, who dashed across the room and back to do so.

And just in time, it seemed, as Galahad emptied his stomach into it the moment Cora pressed the pail into his hands. Cora soothingly ran her hand up and down her friend's back. "Da, go get something for his nausea from Dagonet. And some water, too." Cora requested.

Eager for something to do and to be away from Galahad, Lancelot was on his way without any further prompting. But he did hear Cora yell, "Bloody hell! What did he add to it?!" Lancelot slunk away sheepishly.

Cora wrapped her arms around Galahad's shoulders and helped him stagger a few feet away to lay on her bed. Galahad's soulful green eyes gazed up at Cora, completely miserable, as she attempted to comfort him, pail within easy reach. "I'm so sorry, Gal. I didn't think there was anything really wrong with the stew," Cora informed him, sitting down on the side of the bed next to him. She struggled to keep her face neutral, tears gathering in her eyes.

Galahad couldn't help but want to comfort her, even as his stomach rolled and pitched. He reached a hand up to cup her cheek, his hand clammy and even shaking a little. "Not...your fault," he said, struggling to finish his sentence before he lunged forward to retch in the pail. His stomach was already empty, so all that came up was a sickly yellow bile.

There he panted, his chest laid across Cora's lap as she stroked his chocolate curls. Galahad closed his eyes, trying to forget everything but the feel of Cora's fingers through his hair. As he tried to recover as Cora tended to him, Lancelot returned with Dagonet.

Cora looked up at the two men, blinking through tears. The sight struck Lancelot like a physical blow. Dagonet crossed the room to the young pair, touching Cora's shoulder and speaking to her softly. "Go with your father to the well, pet. Get some fresh air. I'll make Galahad comfortable," he told her gently, smiling encouragingly.

When Cora had still been a child, she had called both her father and Dagonet 'Da', for the simple reason that she could not pronounce his name. He had been her favorite uncle, and had climbed all over the gentle giant as a small child. Dagonet was so fearsome looking, but so gentle and patient, making Cora feel so utterly safe and comforted in his presence.

She nodded slowly at his instructions, glancing down at Galahad who waved her on and shifted to allow her to get up. Cora crossed the room to her father who gently took hold of her arm, and led her out of the house.

At the well, as Lancelot drew up a bucket of water, Cora decided to speak. "It seems you've gotten your way again, Father. I won't be working at the tavern tonight. Make sure to tell Vanora for me." Cora said coldly, taking the bucket out of his hands as soon as Lancelot had it. "Make sure to take your whore for the night to your room in the barracks." She continued, banishing her father from their home. Cora held a deep resentment for any woman her father attempted to bring into their home. She felt it a defilement of her home, for Lancelot bring any whore or prostitute into the same house his daughter lived in.

Cora took in the stunned expression on her father's face with a small note of satisfaction, before turning on her heel and walking away.

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	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the wait.

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**Chapter 2**

When Cora returned to her little cottage alone and with a heavy bucket of water, Dagonet was quick to relieve her of her burden. "Where's your father?" he inquired, as Cora peered past him to see Galahad resting on his back, his eyes closed, and undressed all except for his breeches.

"I sent him on to the tavern." Cora answered briefly, moving to pour the rest of the noxious stew into a refuse bucket, before cleaning the pot out with water and a bit of soap.

"He was supposed to help me get Galahad back to his own quarters. He knew this. Why would he not return?" Dagonet murmured to her, taking the now-clean pot from her and pouring half the bucket of well water inside and setting it on the hook above the fire to heat.

"Don't worry about that, Da. Galahad will stay here with me. I'll look after him." Cora informed him, with an ironclad tone. Dagonet's eyes softened as they always did when she called him that. He refused her nothing when she called him 'Da', and Cora was very aware of that. "Just tell me what to do." She added softer, looking up at the Knight innocently.

Dagonet sighed. "As you wish, Cora. But if he becomes too much trouble, do not hesitate to come get me." He requested.

Cora just smiled, looking over to the younger Knight, who was watching them curiously. "Oh, he'll be no trouble. Will you, Galahad?" she called to him.

"I'll be a good boy. For Cora," Galahad said sleepily, his voice hoarse. The pause between his words made both Dagonet and Cora raise their eyebrows, but did not comment.

Cora looked back to Dagonet expectantly, her eyebrows raised. "My instructions, sir Knight?" Cora prompted teasingly.

Dagonet rolled his eyes at her, placing a hand on Cora's shoulder. "Well, if he sweats, keep him cool so he doesn't take a fever. If he's chilled, keep him warm. Give him tea to help his stomach when you or he thinks he can hold it down," he explained, pointing to a few herb pouches on the table. "Those will do it. Steep one bag at a time, or it will be far too potent and Galahad will not thank you for it," Dagonet continued.

Cora nodded obediently. "Is that all?" she asked.

Dagonet smiled and nodded. "Yes, but you also have to deal with Galahad. Keep him in bed, you'll have to wrestle him back into it when he decides he's fine and needs no further treatment." He told her.

Cora flashed her friend a deadly look. "He wouldn't dare." Cora told Dagonet, before herding the man towards the door. "Go on and enjoy yourself, Dag. I promise I'll send for you should I need you." She assured him. The older man left reluctantly, and Cora went to Galahad's bedside.

"You don't have to take care of me, Cora. You can call Dagonet back. He won't mind." Galahad told her as she sat on the side of the bed, reaching to take her hand. Cora just smiled at him, enclosing his larger hand between her two small ones.

He lay on his back, naked from the waist up, all his uncovered skin glistening with sweat. If he wasn't so pale and miserable-looking, Cora supposed she would have blushed. Cora tilted her head at his words, releasing her grip on his hand and bending to wet a rag in cool water; leaving Galahad's hand laying limp on her lap. "If you think I'm doing this because I feel guilty, you're wrong." She informed him, wringing out the rag before laying it across Galahad's forehead.

Galahad's hazy emerald eyes didn't falter from its focus on her face, searching her cerulean eyes. "Then why?" he asked, his heart accelerating when Cora rested her hand on his bare chest without thinking, right above his heart. He felt a strange sort of panic at the thought she might feel how fast his heart was beating.

Cora gave him a strange, questioning look. "What do you mean, why? Do you even need to ask? I care about you." She told him, as if he should have known that already. A warm glow appeared on Galahad's cheeks at her words.

Cora frowned at the sight, bringing the hand that had been resting on his chest to test the temperature of his cheeks; unaware of the smile that curved his lips. "Do you feel any worse? You look like you have a fever," Cora questioned.

Galahad shook his head. "Better, actually." He said, contradictorily, as he immediately then turned to retch into the pail. His retching soon turned to painful dry heaves. And the longer it went on, the more painful it sounded. Cora rubbed his back and stroked his hair, hating the pain she heard in his voice and the tremors that went through his body as he heaved. When it seemed to lessen, Cora got up, trying to ignore Galahad and his pleading look.

She scooped up a mug-full of the boiling water and let one of the herb packets steep in the liquid. "I have a little honey, Gal. You want it in the tea?" she asked, seeing that Galahad was now sitting on the edge of the bed, panting. He nodded without comment, so Cora found the little, nearly empty jar in her cupboards and poured a little in, stirring it thoroughly before carrying it over to her patient.

He shivered once he had the warm mug in his hands, the cold sweat drying on his skin. Cora wrapped the blanket from her bed around his shoulders. Galahad grimaced at the bitter taste of the tea. "I only put a spoonful of honey in there. So it would last for more of the tea, should you need it." Cora told him, rubbing his back encouragingly as he kept drinking the bitter tea.

"It's good," Galahad told her, smiling weakly. The only reason he admitted as much was because the tea immediately numbed his sore, aching throat; and did not immediately come up as soon as it hit his stomach. There was a knock at the door then, so Cora got up and mussed Galahad's hair as she went to the door.

Galahad smiled a little wider as he watched Cora walk away. As much as he hated being sick (and he was a terrible patient), he loved Cora fawning over him and taking care of him. He couldn't help but think of this as an opportunity to woo his way deeper into her heart.

At the door was one of Vanora and Bors' children, Gilly, their eldest son. "Oh hello, Gilly. What brings you here?" Cora greeted.

The thirteen year old boy thrust a small covered pot into her hands. "Ma sent some broth for Galahad. She said she's sad you can't work tonight, but she understands and says she doesn't mind. She also sent me and said to tell you I can run and fetch anything you need." Gilly recited dully, before taking a large breath.

Cora grinned at the boy. "Well, that's very kind of you, Gilly." Cora state, turning to place the covered pot on her table, and finding his cheeks burning when she turned back to face him again. "The only thing I can think of for you to do for me is to run to the well and draw me some water, if you'd oblige. And then I'll release you back to your mother," Cora offered, not being able to help her amusement at finding the boy seemed to have a crush on her. She picked up the spare bucket that sat empty next to the front door.

Gilly snatched it from her hands, his cheeks still burning bright; and dashed out of sight towards the well nearby. Cora turned to look at Galahad and laughed. He was smiling too, a little more color back in his cheeks. "He's got a crush on you," Galahad remarked, beckoning her back to him.

Cora gave another laugh as she obliged, sitting down beside Galahad. "Gilly's sweet. But he's thirteen." She responded quietly, resting her head on Galahad's shoulder as he snaked an arm around her shoulders.

"And you're seventeen." Galahad added, thoughtfully.

Cora raised her head, looking at him inquiringly. "Tomorrow I will be." She corrected, wondering at his distraction this day. "And you're twenty-three. Old man," Cora added teasingly.

Galahad lifted his brooding eyes to hers. "Is twenty-three really so old?" He questioned, suddenly downcast. Cora's expression was innocently confused, making Galahad feel slightly sick again. "I mean, when I was seventeen, I'd been with many women already...but you, Cora..." he wondered out loud.

"I've only been courted by Guyon, if that's what you're wondering. And I've kept my virtue." Cora informed him, still confused as to his line of thought.

Galahad had suspected as much. "But, why? You've had many admirers, but you haven't shown interest in any of them. Except Guyon, but that only lasted a few weeks. And then nothing since." He questioned her.

Cora furrowed her brows, considering her answer. "Because Guyon was the first man I fancied. And I did not feel for him once I had him. And I've seen how all of you wench around. I want love, Galahad. Not just a man who deigns to share my bed and my life only when he has a taste for my body. I want a love with constancy, a man who is always mine. Never someone else's." She explained.

Galahad had never dreamed of this answer. It was so close to his own dreams that he wanted to sing. "So do I, Cora. I don't want a different wench every night. I want the same woman, every night and day. But I cannot give that to her." He responded, and at Cora's questioning look he continued. "I am a slave to Rome, Cora. I can be called away at any time. I cannot be her man always. Not when my life is not my own. I do not know what to do," His voice broke at the end, and Cora wrapped her arms around him comfortingly.

"I did not know you were in love, Galahad. You should tell her. Everything. And if she feels the same, she will love you still, and would wait for Rome to release you. A smart woman would," Cora assured him.

"I just did," Galahad said, his voice muffled from where his face was pressed against her neck.

"What?" Cora questioned in astonishment. Galahad drew back from her embrace to search her eyes with his dark, hazy green; before ducking forward and pressing his lips to hers. After a breathless moment, Cora responded, wrapping her arms around his neck, taking a moment to breath. "I never thought..." she murmured, before leaning forward to recapture his lips. The young pair kissed heatedly until Galahad broke away to draw breath, paler than before.

"So you _are _sick. I was beginning to wonder if you were just a talented actor." Cora wondered out loud, cupping Galahad's pale, flushed cheek. Galahad opened his mouth to protest, but Cora continued before he could get a word in. "But you are far too honest, Gal, to ever be a convincing liar." She informed him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "So there will be no kissing until you are better," she continued.

The most childish pout settled on Galahad's lips, making Cora giggle. "None of that, either. It doesn't sway me. You should know this already." Cora told him, folding just enough to bestow a single chaste kiss on his lips. "That will have to last you," She told him, patting his cheek with the silliest grin on her face.

Galahad liked that expression on her face. Cora's deep blue eyes were bright and sparkling, her cheeks still flushed, and her lips slightly swollen from his kisses. If he could keep her that way forever, Galahad would be over the moon with happiness.

Cora turned from him, taking just a few steps before seeing the bucket of water sitting in the open doorway. "Gilly!" she gasped, turning to look at Galahad.

"He must've seen us," Galahad suggested, his eyes widening at the thought.

Cora went to the door, lifting the bucket from the doorway and setting it aside, so she could close the door. "And no doubt went running to tell his mother," she hissed through clenched teeth. An amused expression appeared on the young man's face, which displeased his love, and she stormed towards him. "And _she_ will tell my father." Cora added dryly.

Galahad's face drained of all color. "Lancelot's going to kill me," he whispered, looking quite nervous.

Cora merely laughed at him. "Considering how he just tried to poison you, Gal, I think you're even for awhile," she reminded him, closing the last few feet to settle beside him. Galahad flashed her an unimpressed look. "Anyway, I would not let him hurt you. Not for this anyway," Cora continued, smiling at him, before leaning in to kiss him.

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